


hell for

by Anonymous



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Brother/Brother Incest, Leather Culture, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A series of exchanges.
Relationships: Torgrim/Atli (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 2
Collections: Anonymous





	hell for

**Author's Note:**

> Prelude to [this one.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22094644) Still @vincestsaga on Twitter, though I'm locked at the moment 👍

"What have you got going?" the leather man asks. "Sometimes thinking about a theme helps you decide. Not Daddy/boy?" He gives Torgrim the questioning look.

"Something like that," Torgrim replies, with a grin. He wants everyone in this new world to take Atli seriously, of course, but he's finding that people tend to assume he's in charge. Which is nice, because he is. Not too much, he's not pushy or anything; but Atli likes it too, and it's true. It's just his job to move through the world a half-pace ahead. It has been since he was born.

"Nothing like that," Atli says, not turning around from the shelf where he's tugging at the merchandise in a way Torgrim wishes he wouldn't. "I'm just gonna wear the collar, or whatever. If that's something we have to do."

"Don't put your mitts all over the man's leather."

"I charge extra for that." The clerk seems to feel it's necessary to add, "Joke. We're a law-abiding establishment."

The two of them aren't about to call in a bust on anyone for anything, but there's no need for strangers to know that. Torgrim smiles and gives a friendly jerk of the head to show that of course it's a nice clean place, but he appreciates the humor. The man must be in his forties or something. Old folks are liable to get lonely if you don't act encouraging.

"How else am I s'posed to know what I want to wear? Feel it out with my eyeballs?"

Atli's wavering in and out of one his bitchy moods. It used to be bratty, but they're a bit too mature for that now. Cheering him up is fun, when they're alone, but right now he's just nervous. Once he's used to all this leather stuff, he'll forget all about it.

What he really wants, of course, is to be talked back into a good mood. Torgrim's an old hand at that. He wouldn't let anyone else try. But it happens he's not quite sure how to start, at the moment. He's done it as a brother, in public. And he's done it in the way they can act when they're alone. They're moving into new territory now. _Lovers,_ in front of other people. The real kind, not just fuckbuddies meeting up for an evening with a girl they'll (hopefully) never see again. And removing the _brothers_ element, which has always been there before, when they're being lovers. So his, "Don't be rude, dear," doesn't come out, and it's the clerk who says, genially:

"I only ask because it looks like you're here to guide him through it. That's a Daddy thing, usually. But it looks like you're on the same level."

Nice way of saying Torgrim's little brother is a fucking brat. But Torgrim takes the hand extended to him. "Yeah, we're just easing into it, is all. I got mine a few weeks ago. He's been grabbing it enough to know what it feels like by now."

"Some couples like a matching theme," the clerk volunteers. Good salesmanship. "If you're having trouble building the picture in your mind, you might start there. It's mostly the same functionality in the end, so don't get too intimidated by the mystique. Just pick something small that works for you."

"I mean," Atli says, after a look at Torgrim, who's gesturing helpfully to the harness on his own chest, "I'm not trying to show my tits off or anything."

" _You_ picked this!" Torgrim's harness is sort of a curved X over his chest. There's a metal circle at the center of the X that Atli's been having a grand old time pulling him around by, these past few weeks. He's been pulling down on the bottom straps too, making it press in tighter. Not just testing the material, apparently.

"I'm not trying to show _my_ tits off," Atli explains, and turns back to the leather samples pinned to the wall, which are mostly just for color and stamped patterns. This is a regular leather store first and foremost.

He's being an absolute bitch today. Torgrim's not sure how to negotiate a punishment with him acting like this. If that's what he's after. It's been a while since he found some way he doesn't just _know_ Atli, and he finds himself stumbling over the confidence he should've practiced himself into. "Oh, yeah? Well..."

"You've gotta show a pair like that off," the proprietor says.

Atli turns back to face the room. "That's what I thought. They keep getting bigger. And then his whole stomach has to show, right?"

"Oh, yeah. There's plenty of room to grow there. You don't want to keep replacing it every year."

"Exactly! It's obvious where all the lines _can't_ be. But then for me they could go anywhere."

Torgrim feels, very casually, for the counter at his side. Equally casually, he transfers just a tiny bit of his weight and leans, very gently. They've had a few men, the two of them, but there hasn't been any of this. Nobody really eyes the two of them up when they're out looking around. They're the ones who do the looking over.

"You like stripes." He gathers himself and launches that at Atli. Show him big brother knows a little something about fashion, after all. "Just get something with stripes. Or looks like them, maybe. Straight up and down."

"Striped leather's not that common," the proprietor says, at the same time Atli says, "Straight up and down _where?_ Like suspenders?"

"Anywhere you like," Torgrim says, grandly. "Spare no expense."

After a short pause, Atli tells the proprietor, "Don't listen to a word he says."

"There's that American singer who does suspenders," the proprietor volunteers. "Not in leather, though."

"I'm not trying to look a thousand years old. I'll take something cheap and basic for now, give that a try before I commit."

Torgrim grits his teeth, as well as he can while smiling, as Atli takes about twenty seconds to settle on a plain little thing he's passed by at least three times. Fine. He's the one who gets to strut around in that until he makes up his mind for real.

" _My_ card, thanks." Torgrim plunks the thing down right on top of Atli's.

The man takes it after a cautious glance over at Atli. "Common name, eh?" is all he says. They get that so much Torgrim has the answer ready before the words are out of his mouth.

"I forget myself, sometimes."

Atli wants very much to be giving him a Look, Torgrim can feel it, but of course doing it would be a dead giveaway. They know better than that. So Torgrim smiles pleasantly and innocently at the stranger who won't remember them tomorrow—unless Atli sticks in his mind as one of the ruder customers he's had. Atli's smiling behind him, or at least forming the shape of a smile. They're a nice young couple.

Atli's turned round already by the time Torgrim's done with the cards. Showing off another nice young couple, as it happens, and Torgrim gives them a friendly pat before slinging his arm over Atli's shoulders.

"I think you'd better wear the collar, hm?" Torgrim traces wistfully round his brother's neck, leaving his forefinger in the hollow of his throat. "You'd look so good."

Glancing down, Atli colors lightly. "Erm, yeah, I might. Wear one, I mean."

"That's my boy," Torgrim cheers. They're both squeezing their legs together a bit. Not that they need to, here, but out of habit.

"Not one with a lock," Atli adds, looking back at him. "Or leads, or anything. We don't need that stuff. I don't want anyone thinking things they shouldn't."

Torgrim wants a fucking gold lock and key on his little brother any time he's up for public display, but he's willing to table that for the time being. Putting an arm around Atli, he nods his assent right into his ear. "Sure, sure. Just a plain one. So everyone knows who your Daddy is."

"Fuck off," Atli says, touching his hand and sneaking a nervous look at the clerk. The clerk, seeing a young man nervous about touching another man in public, grins back encouragingly.

"We'll come back for the collar,," Torgrim tells him, with his own easy smile right back. His stomach's a bit tensed up too, grabbing each other in public like this, but he's got to be the one keeping a handle on things, and God knows he practiced, so he'll manage it. "You'll keep the business card? We're at the same number."

"Lucky," the clerk says. "I got kicked out ten months ago. He changed the locks on me and everything. After I _made_ his lock. Ten years together. I must've made fifty horse whips those first six months."

"This one's gonna last," Torgrim tells him, hoping to leave a little light in his life. Some of that Age of Aquarius energy. He's a nice old man. He doesn't need to know they're not exactly conquering the odds. They're just never going to be any other way.

They've always been like this. Not all the way, at first; they didn't figure out sex for a while. But even before that, they were _together_. Falling into bed together happened for them as naturally as other boys fall into the girls next door.

Or, as Torgrim's becoming increasingly aware, the boys next door. Either way, he had a shorter distance to travel.

"One of these days you're gonna let it slip we've got the _same_ daddy," Atli says, squeezing his arm a little too tightly on their way to the car.

"Daddies, my arse," Torgrim says, squeezing back just a little too long, right before they become visible to the world and have to separate. "Try coming out of the same womb."

* * *

"Look," Torgrim says, once they're a reasonable distance back to their real lives. "Were you angling for a spanking back there, or what? You're supposed to go over it first, if you want something new. I don't want you getting in over your head because you got too excited about something you saw in a porno."

"I'm not five years old," Atli mutters. "And I wasn't angling for anything."

"Then you're just being a prick!" Torgrim slaps the side of the steering wheel. "What the hell's wrong, then? You were fine when you picked mine out."

"I mean," Atli adds, still caught up in his thoughts, "not yet, anyway. But if you want one—"

The car's fine, and the police officer is persuaded without too much trouble that Torgrim has a real thing about spiders. Sitting on the side of the road at the end of a pair of skid marks, Torgrim directs a glare as far sideways as he can without actually turning his head. It _would_ be right in front of a speed trap.

"Well?"

"It's just new." Atli drums on the dashboard with his knuckles. "You're not the one who—no one's going to look at you and know exactly what you like getting done to you. And by who. I mean, I want them to know, it's the whole point, it's just... new. To think about. People watching me like that. And." He raps out a quick tattoo, harder than before. "They'll be coming to you for permission, right? If they want anything with me. I don't want them thinking I'll just go with them. Nobody ever treated us like that before. Like I do what you say."

Torgrim contemplates all this for a second or two, then unbuckles his seatbelt with a click. "You'd better drive," he tells Atli. "Fast as you can, I don't want to waste this one."

Atli drives fast, but his balls are starting to ache by the time they settle for a no-tell motel situated behind the regular motel that has a sign up on the road. Run by the same people, maybe. Atli's parking leaves something to be desired, but he handles the check-in gracefully while Torgrim fondles himself slowly through his increasingly painful jeans. Inside, he handles a lot more.

The thing about the BD/SM thing Torgrim's been reading up on is, it's not _him_ makes Atli do what his big brother likes. He knows he can go out with anyone he likes, and he doesn't have to tell Torgrim, before or or after. He doesn't even have to come home. Or he does have to, in a sense, but it's not because Torgrim makes him. Torgrim has to come home to him, too. He could try going someplace else, but it wouldn't ever be his home without a kitchen where Atli makes the other half of dinner behind him and finishes his beer if he leaves it alone on the counter too long. They like being with each other, and they don't like being apart, and nobody thinks it's strange that two working men want to share a flat with family. It was furnished with a double bed when they moved in, and no one's noticed that it was never carried out. 

He asked, of course, once they were both grown, if Atli didn't want something different now he was more mature and all. Atli told him to go fuck himself and he hasn't asked since. They had sex every day those first few weeks alone together, and while they've slowed down a bit since then it's still plenty healthy. It was nervousness that made Torgrim ask, really, because of course Atli wants the one who's most concerned that he has a good time, and feels cared for and held afterwards. 

Torgrim, for his part, isn't gay, exactly, or even 'in love' with his brother, if love's something you fall into as you go along through life. He's never been any other way about Atli. His brother's always imitated him and come to him for help and fallen asleep with a hand on his shoulder. Everything he learns gets passed down to Atli. When he figured out there were new feelings to learn about, he taught himself, and he waited till Atli wanted to learn, and then he showed him. He was careful it was good for his brother and not scary. And he didn't want to figure it out with anyone else. He couldn't care about anyone else like he cares about Atli.

He doesn't mind men, of course, so maybe that does count as gay or something like it. Men are all variations on his little brother—colored darker or fairer, stretched wider or taller. That's never come up in any of the newsletters he looked at, preparing for this new thing they're about to start.

"You read too much," Atli tells him, kissing his belly again.

"You could stand to do a little more of it."

Nobody's ever accused Torgrim of being a bookworm. He just likes to have the facts before he starts something big. This time especially there's a lot of rules. It's not like the two of them can go to the cops for help if something goes wrong.

Maybe it's nervousness. Maybe it was nervousness that started all this. He had a vague awareness as a child that bad things could happen to girls, and when he was in the library sneaking looks at dirty books, he found out boys could get taken away like that too. Not as much, but sometimes. None of the books said much about what the bad things were, but he was starting to get an idea. And if anyone did anything to his brother, Torgrim would've had to kill them, and then he'd end up in prison. So he made sure Atli learned everything right, and that way no one else could teach him wrong.

And it wasn't like _that_ between them, even though Torgrim was older. They held hands sometimes afterwards, like men and women do in movies—real ones, not dirty ones. Maybe they weren't feeling the same things as married people would, but it felt nice anyway. They both knew even then that nobody else could find out, but it wasn't like it would've been if someone else forced Atli to keep a secret. Nothing his big brother does has ever been dangerous like that.

"You're expecting everything to go like it says on paper. It never does. We don't have to show up looking just like everyone else."

"All this over the stupid collar? Fine! Don't wear one. Better for my bank account."

The motel air conditioning is struggling, and the blanket's too scratchy to be pulled over him unless he gets up and gets his trousers back on. Atli brings the top sheet up with him, and touches Torgrim's shoulder to be let in. Torgrim puts an arm around him, because he always does, and he doesn't say anything until Atli speaks up himself.

"I didn't say I don't want one at all. And you don't have to pay. I never said you did."

"I said I was going to."

"I don't want you to buy me everything!" He's as close to a pout as a grown man can get. "I've got my own money. Why would you do that with the cards? You're just shoving the names in his face. This was supposed to be about staying anonymous."

"That's the point. We can't get around showing ID sometimes. Better to get it out of the way. Not look like we're trying to hide it." In the afterglow, Torgrim's irritation is forgotten. His brother fits perfectly in the space under his arm. They grew like this, and they'll be back to normal once he gets this solved.

Atli lets out a puff of air on his chest. Hard to tell what mood of puff it is. "Well, do what you want. If we have to move, you can pay for that too."

"Yeah, I'll do that." Torgrim feels thoughtfully at the stubble on Atli's chin. "You going to grow this out?"

"Oh, stop!" Atli bats his hand away and buries his face in his neck. "I'm a big whiny baby and I won't even let you buy me things when you want to. I know. I'm just nervous."

"Since when do you get scared?" Torgrim pats the back of his neck soothingly. Almost there. "Look, that's why I'm doing all this scouting ahead of time. So nothing catches you by surprise."

"Hm." A sigh sends another puff across Torgrim's chest hair. Atli's shirt is like a second skin. Stiff between them and holding back the heat of his chest and shoulders. Maybe there's something to all this leather harness stuff.

Torgrim gives him a squeeze. "Look, everyone's coming to this place to get treated like a man. Just some of you in extra fun ways."

"As everyone can tell just by looking."

"No collar, then. We'll look exactly the same. They don't make you wear a label."

"Fine." He squeezes Torgrim's arm suddenly. "I do want one. I want you to put one on me. Just not right away."

"Of course." Torgrim rubs his shoulders. "Why don't you order the trousers for both of us, I'll grab a catalog or something when I go in. Make you feel better about things."

"You want to _let someone else_ order your _first ever pair_ of leather trousers?" Atli's tone is incredulous.

"Yeah. What?" Torgrim reaches for the thread of conversation, trying to find where it got messed up.

"From a _catalogue_?"

"What?! It's not like the harness. Trousers are trousers. They're all the same shape."

"The trousers," Atli says firmly, "are a full day."

"Fine. Fine. Have it your way." Better to give up a day than be on shaky terms with Atli. For a few days, probably. They've never fought for that long and the idea makes him shiver. 

"You'd better let me handle these things, love. You know I won't pick anything that makes you look silly."

The implications of that aren't quite enough to jeopardize the peace over. But Torgrim doesn't choose to acknowledge it with more than a soft growl.

"You're practical. It's a good thing." Atli gives him a kiss. His way of solving everything, after he started it. "You reckon they've got cameras?"

Torgrim lets it be solved. He is practical. "Probably." The ceiling's pretty uniform. Not much bric-a-brac on the overnight stand or the telly, but you never know. "But they just saw the one card. Ready for your ride?"

"Maybe." Atli nudges curiously at his feet. "Why're your shoes on?"

"Why are yours off? Thought we were swimming in germs."

"Put my shoes right on the sheets? Someone has to clean these." Atli shoots him a dirty look. "Anyway, don't offer your feet if you mean your shoes. Don't get those anywhere near me."

"Worrying about the cleaning staff! They get paid to clean. Nothing I've stepped in is the worst thing they've seen on these sheets." Torgrim points his right shoe straight upward, to make a kind of point. But Atli's not looking that way, and he's left staring at it alone. "Ah, shit. We'll need boots too. I suppose that'll be another day of you looking around."

"More like two. Lots of trying things on. You _can't_ order away for shoes, so don't even try suggesting it."

"You can have the second day for yourself, I'm taking the first pair that fit." Torgrim kicks his foot up under the sheets. The remote, left helpfully at the foot of the bed, slides down to his knee, where he makes a grab for it. "If you really don't want anything, I'm gonna see if they've got cable."

"Probably just a feed of the other rooms." Atli cuddles into him and sits up a little for a view of the telly. He knows Torgrim's not going to stay home by himself and be bored all day.

It's something with people crying in office buildings. An affair, or not getting that raise, maybe. They're not talking, just crying, so it's hard to tell.

"Urk."

"Give it a chance. Find out why this bloke's crying, at least."

"I wouldn't mind a collar on you," Atli says suddenly. He's doing that thing where he sinks back down and talks into Torgrim's neck. "To match, you know."

"For home," Torgrim says, after a minute's thought. Cautious-like. It's not easy making decisions with a movie playing. It's two people staring across a field now, a man and a woman. If they have to decide who's wearing the collar, they're not doing it in Room 104 of a no-tell motel.

"Yeah." Atli knows when to stop pushing. "Just for fun."

"Hm-mm." The pretty couple on the screen are in a restaurant now. The man might be different, it's hard to tell. "You know I won't be pulling you around on a lead? It's just a collar. It's decoration."

"I know." One strong arm comes up round Torgrim's shoulders. "You could at home. If that's what you're into now."

The woman has two kids, a boy and a girl. The husband— _if_ they got married—goes to long lunches with another woman. Torgrim thinks of turning the volume up, but then everyone starts screaming.

"You see? She should've picked the other one."

Atli doesn't turn to see. "What other one?"

"Look," Torgrim says. "Let's stick to the basic kit for now. Leave the extras for later."

"If you say so." Atli's head is resting on his chest now. He doesn't seem all that interested in the movie family.

Torgrim gives his head a little shake. "Your hair's getting long."

"Waiting on you to tell me what that dress code says about hair." His breath is warm on Torgrim's chest. Slowing down, too, even though it can't be past four. And he hasn't got off, either.

"You're really planning on staying the night here? After all that about germs?"

"Hmm."  
  
Maybe they should've gone for the real motel if it was just going to be a single handjob and a nap. But real motel rooms probably have cameras that record sound too.

"Tell you what." Torgrim eases himself up into a full seated position, sliding Atli's head down into his lap at the same time. "If you're still asleep once this lady's got her life sorted out, I'm dragging you out to the car whether you wake up or not."

No answer. The woman in the movie has a boyfriend of her own now, or maybe a new husband. Hard to tell without the screaming. One of the kids has a dog.

"You never wanted a dog, did you?" He loses interest in the question even as he's asking. They never lacked for company while they were growing up.

"Mm." Atli's drowsing off. Terrible place for it, with the A/C clunking and dripping like it is, probably filling their lungs with mold.

"Speaking of getting anxious." Torgrim strokes his cheek, his thumb running from stubbly chin to sideburn, knowing he's not going to answer. "Look who let his own nerves wear him out."

The A/C is a battle Torgrim can't win. That one, he's letting go. When it comes to any other enemy, his little brother can sleep for as long as he wants, knowing he's in safe hands.


End file.
